The Missing Yesterdays Read online

  The Adventures of Tremain & Christopher

  The

  Missing

  Yesterdays

  TERRY MARCHION

  Book Formatting by Terry Marchion

  THE MISSING YESTERDAYS

  Copyright © 2016 by Terry Marchion.

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations em- bodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For information and to subscribe to his mailing list:

  http://www.terrymarchion.com

  Email him at: [email protected]

  Book design by Terry Marchion

  Cover design by: Danielle Romero – Coffeeandcharacters.com

  ISBN: 978-1530729876

  Third Edition: July 2018

  12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Lab

  Christopher slouched in his seat, his long legs kicked out in front of him as he looked up at the big clock on the wall for what seemed the millionth time, watching the second hand tick off the last few moments of the school day. Sighing, he fiddled with a pulled up corner of the smart film that covered his desk. Usually the smart desk would show the New Earth Progressive School logo at the end of the day, but today, brightly lit, was a note from his teacher which read: Christopher, come see me after class. Great.

  The minute hand moved the last tick and the bell finally rang. He stalled, taking his time putting his books into his backpack as the other kids shuffled out of the class. Once the last one had meandered out, Christopher shouldered his backpack and walked to the teacher’s desk. Mister Anderson watched him, adjusting his wide glasses as Christopher approached. His shaggy hair was just starting to show streaks of gray which blended into his similarly shaggy beard.

  “He looks like a teacher,” Christopher thought, not for the first time. “You wanted to see me?” He said aloud. Anderson cleared his throat.

  “Yes, Christopher, I wanted to show you your grades.” He waved his hand over the smart film on his own desk, quickly pulling up Christopher’s file. One by one, this term’s subject list came into view, each with a corresponding grade next to it. “As you can see,” he motioned to the list, “you’re doing well in the math and science classes, but lagging behind in most of the other subjects.” He fixed his concerned gaze on the young man. “It’s clear where your interests lie, considering who your uncle is, but you need to concentrate on all your classes if you want to do well.” He folded his hands in front of him, and sighed.

  Uh oh, here it comes.

  “I try to make sure all the students I teach are getting a well-rounded experience. You’re short changing yourself. It’s not that math and science aren’t wonderful subjects, but English, History and the rest are fascinating in and of themselves.” He straightened his glasses once again and cleared the smart screen. “If you need tutoring, I can give you and your parents some names of people who can help.” He turned back to Christopher. “Think about it. You’re a bright kid . . .” He droned on, but Christopher tuned out the rest. He’d heard it all before.

  Finally, the lecture stopped and Christopher was dismissed. He hurried over to his locker, checking the time on his phone. He still had time to go see his uncle before the train home arrived. He grabbed his sweatshirt, stuffed his homework and the remaining books he needed into his backpack and headed for the door. The hallway was emptying out, but he still avoided eye contact with the other students. He didn’t have time for chatting.

  After exiting the school, he quickly walked past the rows of students waiting to board the buses, past the pick-up lot and off the school grounds. Glancing back at the school building, its steel construction gleaming in the afternoon sun, he shouldered his backpack a little higher and started running.

  It was only a few blocks from the school to his uncle’s lab. He didn’t have to run, but after sitting most of the day in boring classes (well, except for science) he needed to burn off some energy. He hoped to help his uncle with some important experiment. Maybe this time there would be a huge breakthrough and he would be witness to it.

  A shadow fell over his face as the small moon, Luna Minor, streaked across the azure sky, its surface a blur as it made its quick orbit, one of four each day. Looking to his left, he could see the full face of the larger Luna Major just starting to peek over the horizon. The setting sun cast a reddish glow into the early evening sky surrounding Capitol City. It was a pleasant afternoon, the spring bringing warmer weather. Passing the fountain in the cobblestoned city square, he dodged and weaved in and around the crowds already gathering for the evening's trains back to the suburbs.

  He turned right, cutting through Centennial Park, his normal path to the lab, which was just on the other side of the park. Slowing to a walk, he took a deep breath, enjoying the sound of the gravel as it crunched beneath his sneakers. Reaching a row of hedges, he pushed through the teenager-sized hole onto the lab’s grounds.

  The building before him stretched wide, all red brick and glass with an attractive entrance surrounded by trees and shrubs. It stood three stories tall, the fans and generators on the roof making a distinctive sound. Reaching the walkway to the main entrance, he took a quick glance at the large sign which read: HAWKING LABORATORY OF SCIENCES. He paused to take stock of the building for a minute, looking for smoke, sparks or any other sign of excitement, which sometimes seemed to be the hallmark of his uncle’s work.

  Nothing.

  Thank goodness for calm days, he thought with relief, pushing his way through the revolving door. The lobby was a beehive of activity, as usual. People crossed briskly back and forth, folders in hand, as they moved between wings. Some looked all business, rushing to their destinations. Others were more casual, greeting others as they went on their way. Mail carts and huge boxes with the words “this side up” and “fragile” marked on the sides trundled past him.

  “ . . . But if I increased the gain, we might lose the whole batch. That could set us back . . . “

  “. . . it’s an amazing find! I only hope Professor Perlmutter decides to fund the dig . . . “

  He caught snippets of conversation as the people passed him by, making him imagine what sorts of wild experiments took place in the other labs. The building housed not only his uncle’s, but there were botany labs, top-secret experimental labs, archaeological offices and more. Moving past the receptionist, who waved at him with a wink and a smile, he walked down a short corridor that opened up into an atrium fronted by a huge transparent glass wall. Featured prominently on a pedestal near the entry, a small sign read simply: Main Laboratory. He walked to the door and looked in, pausing briefly catch his breath before he entered.

  He smiled as he looked through the glass. At first glance, everything was an utter, disorganized mess.

  The huge area contained tables piled with electronic equipment, beakers, test tubes, Bunsen burners, unfinished experiments, empty plates, books and other less identifiable items. In one corner sat a machine with coils of copper tubing rising above it. Crackling electricity arced from one coil to the next and back again. Christopher always thought that contraption was only for show, to be honest.

  The air smelled faintly of something burnt mixed with machine grease and industrial cleaner. One smart wall was displaying various scenes; the latest weather report, a cooking program, an old movie, al
l the way to a sports game further down the wall. Lab techs bustled around, clipboards in hand as they prepared to leave for the day. On a long table that ran down the center of one part of the room, a man with a look of utter confusion on his face rummaged through the collected detritus.

  He was tall and thin with a shock of dark unkempt hair that he kept running his hands through in frustration. His worn, wrinkled lab coat was streaked with grease and what could have been food stains. At the sound of the door opening, he turned to see the boy enter the room.

  "Ah, Christopher!" He said, his face brightening. Tremain bustled over and offered a huge bear hug. "And how is my favorite nephew today?" Releasing Christopher, he turned and went back to digging among the piles.

  For as long as Christopher could remember, Tremain spent almost all his time at the lab. He even slept there sometimes when he got so absorbed in his work that he completely lost track of the time. He had no family of his own and always joked that science was his only love. He was sometimes rude, sometimes too kind, absolutely brilliant and to Christopher’s way of thinking, absolutely wonderful.

  Picking up one end of a rather large coil of wires, Tremain shook his head, gave a theatrical groan and promptly plopped it back on the table.

  "I’m your only nephew and I'm fine, Uncle Tremain." the youth said, placing his heavy canvas pack on the floor next to the door. "What are you doing?"

  Tremain looked abashed for an instant before answering.

  "Well, I'm looking for a sandwich I made for myself quite some time ago," He shifted a large mass of electrical components to another pile, "but I got involved in something and forgot where I put it. So I made another one." He moved to another pile on an adjoining table. "I seem to have lost that one too." He sighed and dropped his arms to his sides.

  Christopher smiled. He was used to his uncle’s absentmindedness. It was part of his charm. He could remember many times his uncle had “forgotten” things when he was conducting experiments. He stopped counting the times he had arrived after school to find his uncle slightly singed from some mishap, but physically fine and the lab surprisingly intact. Inevitably, it was due to his attempt to perform multiple experiments at once, with the help of assistants, but ignoring one, or more, at a critical time. Christopher never could figure out why his uncle worked that way, but for him, it was business as usual. Tremain pulled up a chair for the boy to sit and grabbed one for himself. "But sandwiches don’t matter right now, do they?" He said, pulling the chairs closer together, "How was school today?"

  Christopher adjusted himself in the seat before starting in.

  "We had Comparative Philosophies and History today, and I'm a little confused."

  "How so?" Tremain urged.

  "Well, in History we were learning about Earth and how the colonists came to find New Earth"

  "Yes?"

  "Well, my professor in that class taught us about the colonists who left Earth to find a new home, the expansion of the human race, he called it. They had found another planet that was remarkably similar to Earth and had sent a crew. There were a few accidents on board, but New Earth was reached and here we are.”

  "General historical facts." Tremain interrupted, "Nothing sounds confusing there."

  "Yes, but in my Comparative Philosophies class, she had a different explanation."

  Tremain's eyes glinted.

  "Oh really?" he said, "How different?" Christopher shifted again,

  "In THAT class she taught us the Gods came to the colonists and showed them the way to New Earth."

  "Oh they DID, did they?" Tremain asked, clearly warming to the subject. "And how did you react?"

  "Well, I knew that in my history class what he told us was fact since he had all these charts and lists. But there didn't seem to be any mention of the Gods there. I found it a bit strange."

  "So, you made mention of this to your Philosophies teacher who didn't take too kindly to it, did she?" Tremain's eyes twinkled as he patted his nephew's shoulder. "Let me tell you a thing or two about history.

  History is all about point of view. Two people see the same thing happen, say a train accident. Based on their differing experiences, their moods at the time, if they were distracted or paying attention, they can have two very different accounts of the same event. The text in your history books are much the same way. The basic facts are the same, but unless you were actually there, you are biased by the author's point of view." He straightened.

  "Take, for instance what you've told me. You've given me an account of your classes today. Given what I've heard at face value, you seem to be a very intelligent boy who has a lust for knowledge, not unlike his brilliant uncle." He gave Christopher a conspiratorial wink, "But I wonder what account your philosophies teacher would give, hmm? Would she have the same impression of you? Would she find you inquisitive? Somehow, I really doubt it. She most likely found you insolent, disruptive and rude. Which," he exclaimed, pointing at Christopher’s seat, "would explain the letter I see sticking out of your back pocket that she's undoubtedly written to your mother."

  Christopher gasped as he unconsciously put his hand to his back pocket.

  "H-how did you?"

  Tremain grinned and winked at Christopher again.

  "I saw the return address on the envelope. I simply put two and two together." He patted Christopher on the arm. "Pay no mind to it, she's only angry that you have a curious nature and you obviously asked something she couldn’t answer. The big question is, however, how will my sister take it?"

  "She'll probably ground me again." Christopher sagged.

  "And she'll blame my influence as well, I'm sure. She isn't still mad at me is she?" Tremain made a twirling motion near his ear, "Her hair . . . all grown back, has it?"

  Even in his slumped state, Christopher grinned.

  It had been a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Tremain had been working on a new grease cleaner. His sister had come to pick Christopher up while Tremain was demonstrating his cleaner’s effectiveness on a huge smear on the wall. She got a little too close to Tremain’s over-spray and some landed in her hair. Apparently very effective on more than just grease, the concoction caused an immediate cleansing of her scalp. The resulting bald spot, while somewhat camouflaged with clever styling, infuriated her and she all but forbade Christopher from visiting his uncle after that. A mandate that Christopher found very difficult to obey.

  "Yes, all grown back . . . and yes, she's still angry. She refuses to talk about you."

  Tremain made a dismissive gesture.

  "Well, still, she'll get over it in time . . . it WAS an accident after all." He made a sweeping move with his arm and went back to digging into his tables. "Oh to heck with it. I wasn't THAT hungry anyway." He whirled to face his nephew. "Do you want to see what I'm working on?"

  Excitement filled Christopher.

  "Yes please!" He jumped off the chair and almost bounded over to his uncle, who cleared a pile of equipment off of a small box with dials on its face.

  "This, my boy, is a coordinate plotter." He walked down the length of the table to a shrouded hulk in the corner. "Which works with this!" He theatrically pulled the shroud away to reveal a mass of tubing and wires hanging from a metal frame over a platform. Giving a little glance at it, Tremain put his hand to his chin. "Admittedly, it doesn't look like much, but it is only a prototype." He walked back over to Christopher who was entranced.

  "But what is it?"

  "Oh, it's a matter transmitter." Tremain said as if it should have been apparent.

  "Does it work?"

  Tremain huffed at this.

  "Does it work?" he repeated, "Does it work? Of course it works!" he twisted his head to the side, "Not perfectly, yet of course, Tremain moved over to a stack of books against the wall and shifted them aside. There was a ragged hole in the wall open to the outside, a soft breeze blowing through it. "The remains of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Took forever to scrape it out. Couldn
't save that patch of wall, though." He replaced the books and came back to Christopher. "I hadn't figured out the correct coordinate map yet." He pulled out a laminated sheet from under the metal box. Slapping it, he placed it into Christopher's ready hands.

  "But, Uncle Tremain, why build it?"

  Tremain looked shocked.

  "Why climb a mountain, Christopher? Why breathe?" he paused, "Because we CAN!" He held his arm up for emphasis. "You know how I’m always missing a part or two for whatever it is I’m working on? I never realize it until I really need it? Really, REALLY need it?"

  Christopher nodded, remembering the last minor incident in the lab. Tremain pointed at the console in the corner.

  "With this machine, I'll be able to order anything and have it delivered within minutes. I'll never have to be delayed by the mail again!" He clapped his hands together in triumph, his smile huge.

  "So you built it to beat the mailman?" Christopher crossed his arms.

  "Well, yes. Edison invented the light bulb. Why? Because he wanted to read the paper at night. Bell invented the telephone. Why? Because he wanted Chinese take-out and was too tired to go there himself." Tremain blustered in mock indignation. "Necessity is the mother of invention. Laziness and impatience in my case, but still, this transmitter could change the face of the planet! Just think about it," Tremain drew Christopher closer to him, an arm around his shoulders.

  He gestured out into the distance, "Last minute gifts are easy, no more running around. Eventually I think we'll be able to travel with these gadgets. A platform here or there and we'll be able to go to the other side of the continent in seconds rather than hours. Exciting, eh?" He hugged Christopher a second longer, then quickly released and moved back to the table. "Do you want to see it work?" He asked, noticing they were now alone in the lab. Christopher shouted his acceptance. Smiling, Tremain began slapping at his pockets, looking for something.

  "Now, where did I put the remote unit?"